The Elder
by the shattered star
Summary: A series of one-shots based on a quote by Timothy Midwinter: "I shared so many kisses with you under that tree." Here are a few moments under the elder tree. Enjoy!
1. Overture

**A/N Hello there! This is my newest fic, and I hope you enjoy it. I have just recently discovered the wonderful world of Candleford, and I have decided to write about it. This will be a series of one-shots, with a prologue and an epilogue. Anyway, without further ado, here is the prologue. Oh, and I obviously don'****t own Candleford, etc.**

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**Prologue:  
**Overture

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"Sir, are you all right?" Timothy shook his head violently, trying to get out of the stupor he was in.

"I'm sorry, Phillip, I don't believe I heard you correctly. Did you say that the elder was knocked over in the storm?"

"Er, yes, sir," Timothy's gamekeeper responded, unsure of how to act.

Timothy knew he should not have been surprised, but for some reason, a romantic notion he supposed, he had always thought that the elder would live for at least as long as he did. To think otherwise had never occurred to him.

"Yes, thank you, Phillip," Timothy said, waving a hand at Phillip, indicating that he should leave. Phillip in turn bowed curtly and turned on his heel, leaving Timothy alone to ponder what this meant. There really was no reason to be upset; she had said no to him, it was as simple as that. He could not turn back and change anything. No, all he had left were the memories.

Timothy strode outside to observe the damage done to the magnificent tree. The limbs had been broken off in such a way that it pained him to see it. Then again, he could not imagine that the tree could have been broken in a way that would not pain him.

He laid his hand on the trunk which was still intact. He could almost feel the memories seep out of the tree into his mind. There was the first time he met her, the first time he kissed her. The time they carved their initials into the tree. "Oh Dorcas, you will never know what you did to me," Timothy whispered, closing his eyes.

"Darling, what's happened out here?" Timothy turned to find his wife strolling up to him. "Oh, did the tree fall? I'm sorry; it was so beautiful," Adelaide said, though her the sound of her voice was no comfort to him.

"It's all right, Adelaide," Timothy said, placing an arm around his wife. "It was a living thing; it was bound to die eventually."

**A/N I know it was very short; the rest will be much longer, I assure you! Leave a review if you please!**


	2. Prélude

**A/N Not too fluffy, but I thought it was necessary for this collection. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.**

**Dedicated to: Bach's prelude in C major  
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Prélude

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"Deliver it straight into the hands of the Lordship Midwinter," Dorcas's father had told her. Dorcas in turn had given her father a look that would have singed anyone looking directly at it, save her father, of course. He was immune to such things.

"Well, who else would I deliver it too, father?" she asked testily. Her father only shook his head at this and sent her out the door.

The Midwinter estate was a good one mile walk from the post office, so Dorcas was pleased when her father had asked her to deliver the postbag. He had been hesitant about sending his daughter to do a postman's job. "Not old enough," Dorcas muttered as she made her way through the woods that surrounded the manor. "I am fifteen! There is no reason he couldn't trust me…" she said, scowling. She was perfectly capable of delivering a postbag.

Dorcas was pleased to see that the sun was out and shining; for the past two weeks there had been rain, and she had been longing to go outside. She was so happy that she didn't even mind walking through several patches of mud. It was only afterwards that she realized that her petticoats would be stained through. "Oh dear," she murmured, lifting her skirt to get a good look at them. "Zillah won't be happy…"

On her way to the estate, Dorcas noticed an elder tree surrounded by beautiful yellow cowslips. She looked around guiltily before making a dash for the tree. As she knelt down to pick some, she realized that she had forgotten about the task at hand. _Well, _she reasoned, _it's not as if I have much to occupy myself with after this…_

Dorcas fell to temptation and dropped to her hands and knees in the flowers, breathing in their sweet fragrance.

"And what do you think you're doing?" a voice rang out. Dorcas looked up to see who the intruder was.

"Picking flowers," she replied insolently at the rude inquiry.

"Do you realize that this is the Midwinter estate?" the man, rather, the boy asked.

"I do," Dorcas said.

"Then you know that you are trespassing."

"Who are you?" Dorcas asked rather impulsively. She regretted the words immediately after they left her mouth, but she wasn't going to let the boy notice that.

"Timothy Midwinter," the boy said, bowing slightly. "And you are…?"

"Dorcas Lane."

"Dorcas… I remember you from school!" the boy cried out, a smile appearing on his face.

"And I you," Dorcas said, standing up. "_Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou are more lovely and more temperate…_," she murmured almost to herself. "You read Shakespeare's sonnets well," she admitted. "But that was some time ago."

"Indeed, it was. I have long since finished my schooling." The boy scowled for a moment, and Dorcas couldn't help but think that it was mildly attractive. "Regardless," the boy said, "you are still trespassing."

"Am I indeed? Well, consider this, Master Midwinter. Who does this land belong to? England, of course. So what right have you to put a claim on land that has already been claimed? None whatsoever. So perhaps it is you who are the trespasser." Dorcas said quickly.

Timothy's brow furrowed in confusion. What was this girl talking about? The land was his, quite simply, and now she was just confusing him. "Regardless, the land is legally property of the Midwinters."

"Isn't it also property of England? And I am a citizen of England, so I have as much right to this land as you do."

"Look, could you just please leave?" Timothy asked, approaching the girl.

"No, I cannot. I have something very important to do."

"And that would be picking yellow flowers, would it?"

"They're cowslips if you must know," Dorcas said, implying that anyone who didn't know that was an utter idiot, "and no, that is not what I must do."

"Well then, pray tell, what is it you need do?"

"I must deliver the Lordship Midwinter's postbag," Dorcas shot back, tilting her head upwards.

"You may give it to me, and then you may leave," Timothy said, getting a little tired of this whole charade.

"I may not!" Dorcas exclaimed, clearly quite shocked. "It would be against post office regulations."

"Well then, by all means, follow me," Timothy said, dryly. Dorcas followed Timothy to the estate where she was greeted by the sight of his Lordship Midwinter himself. The elderly man seemed to be so frail that a breeze could knock him over. Dorcas gave him a small curtsey before presenting him with his post bag. Not a word was exchanged between the two.

Dorcas turned on her heel and left, planning to pick some flowers on her way out.

"Candleford is that way," a voice behind her said. Dorcas jumped and turned around, finding herself face to face with Timothy Midwinter.

"Is it your policy to follow people out your door?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. "I shall pick flowers, and you shan't stop me."

"But—"

Dorcas had already started running towards the elder tree.

"Dorcas, wait!" Timothy called out, but Dorcas paid him no heed. For the second time that day, she fell to her knees among the flowers. She found the brightest flowers and commenced picking them. "At least… Let me help you," he said, offering his hand.

"You? You're too old to pick flowers."

"Me?" Timothy scoffed. "I'm scarcely five years older than you, I am sure!"

"Well, all right, but you can only pick the brightest ones, and make sure the ones you pick aren't dying."

"Like this one?" Timothy asked, holding up a particularly bright specimen. Dorcas nodded, seemingly pleased. _Well, _she thought, _perhaps this Timothy boy might not be too irritating… _

**A/N Enjoyable? I know it wasn't actually their first meeting, but I thought it was close enough. Leave a review, if you please!**** Oh, and if anyone can guess the significance of the chapter titles, I will be impressed. ;) Danke. ~ the shattered star**


	3. Fantasie

**A/N Two chapters in the same day; lucky you! Anyway, I do hope it isn't too fluffy… ****Anyway, review, please!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.**

**Dedicated to: Chopin's Fantasie Impromptu, which is one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written.  
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Fantasie

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Timothy heaved a sigh as he fell to the ground with a thump. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. Perhaps he should have simply let it go; he didn't want power, and neither did his brother. There was nothing for it, he supposed. His brother would go of to the church and he would be stuck on the estate for the rest of his life.

"Why so glum?"

Timothy looked up to be greeted by the sight of Dorcas Lane. "Well, if it isn't my favourite post-girl," he said, pulling her down beside him.

"Is that a word?" Dorcas questioned, quirking her lips in doubt.

"It is now," Timothy proclaimed, forcing a smile. Dorcas frowned. She could always see straight through him when he was putting on a mask.

"Another power play?" she asked, gently placing her hand on his arm.

"Yes. My brother seems determined to leave me with full responsibility of Candleford."

"And you don't wish to have it?" Dorcas asked, lying down in the field of cowslips.

"You know what I wish for, Dorcas," Timothy said. It was only after the words left his mouth that he realized that she didn't know what he wished for. He wished for her and only her, nothing else. He would be perfectly content to run away with her and forget Candleford. But of course, Dorcas didn't know that. Nor would she consent. Then again, nor _should _she. Such an act of irresponsibility would be… reckless. And perhaps it would come to naught; after all, he did not know if his feelings were returned.

"And what do you wish for, Timothy of the Midwinter estate?" Dorcas asked, her face inches away from his, a smile playing upon her lips. Timothy was overwhelmed by temptation. Which he resisted, of course. _Good God, I've only known her for six months, and already I feel… _Well, he didn't know what he felt. All he wanted to know was if she felt the same way.

"To be free," Timothy whispered to her. "To be able to do what I wish, and to have no obligations."

"Don't we all wish for that?" Dorcas laughed. "Unfortunately, it rarely happens, and when it does, the person in question finds no obligations to be inconvenient and irritating." Dorcas sat back on the heels of her hands. "Then again, I am only the daughter of a post office owner, I don—"

"Don't say that, Dorcas," Timothy said, and there was fire in his voice. "You are 'only' nothing." There was a silence between the two. "I must be off to London soon."

"Oh?" Dorcas inquired. "What for?"

"New clothes and the like. All very boring, but I suppose it must be done."

"Indeed, it must. We can't have you going about in rags, now can we?" Dorcas asked, giggling.

"That would look very bad on an heir, I suppose," Timothy muttered dully.

"Timothy… Something else is troubling you." Dorcas said. "I am your friend, am I not?"

"Of course you are, Dorcas," Timothy sighing.

"Then tell me why you are so ill at ease to-day!"

"I just… Have you ever wished to know what someone was thinking?"

"What do you mean?" Dorcas asked, lying back down.

"It's just… I feel… Well, I'm not sure what I feel, but I don't think I've ever felt it before."

"Some specifics would help me at this point, Timothy."

"Oh, never mind!" Timothy exploded.

"Timothy, I do not understand. What is it?" Dorcas demanded, sitting back up. "What has you so agitated?"

Timothy knew it was impulsive, and he was already regretting the idea, but he couldn't stop. He kissed Dorcas Lane. He kissed her under the elder tree, in the middle of a field of yellow cowslips. He could feel his senses intensify; he could feel the breeze ruffling his hair, he could feel her lips on his, still at first, but then moving in time with his, he could smell the cowslips surrounding them, he could hear a door slamming far off in the estate.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled away, trying to make the moment suspend. "I'm so sorry," he whispered to her, searching her eyes. Dorcas took a moment to brush her fingertips over her lips before she responded.

Dorcas closed her eyes and leaned in, kissing Timothy gently. A wave of hope exploded in Timothy's mind. Perhaps she did feel the same way. Perhaps he wasn't at fault and he wouldn't appear to be a complete idiot… Perhaps.

"I don't think you need apologize," Dorcas whispered, pulling away from Timothy. Timothy pulled Dorcas into his arms and hugged her tightly.

"I thought you would be upset, or angry—"

"You, Timothy Midwinter, need to learn how to read people," Dorcas said, as he released her, a lilting smile on her face.

"And you, Dorcas Lane, are all I want." Timothy pulled her in for another kiss. Maybe this one would last eternally.

**A/N Review, if you please! Danke. ~ the shattered star**


	4. Romanze

**A/N Another installment is up! I hope you enjoy this one! Let me know if the fluff is tolerable. ;) Merci!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, etc. Actually I forgot to put up a disclaimer for Prélude: **_**Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate, **_**is from Shakespeare's sonnet No. 18, and**_** How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame, which like a canker in the fragrant rose, doth spot the beauty of thy budding name, **_**is from Shakespeare's sonnet No. 95**

**Dedicated to: Mozart's Concerto No. 20 — Romanze  
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Romanze

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"Why, don't you look sharp," Dorcas said upon seeing Timothy at the elder tree. She ran up to him and he greeted her with a kiss.

"I am glad you find me so," he said, pulling her down next to him with a grin on his face.

"I trust your journey was well?"

"Very well, I thank you," Timothy replied. Dorcas grinned impishly and pulled Timothy in for another long kiss. She was surprised at how she could never get used to them; each kiss meant something, and each kiss made her feel… Made her feel as if she could have to relive that moment a thousand times, and she would still be perfectly content.

"_How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame, which like a canker in the fragrant rose, doth spot the beauty of thy budding name," _Timothy whispered in her ear with another affectionate kiss. Dorcas smiled under his kiss, surprised that he could still recall poems of so long ago.

"I have a confession to make, actually," she said, rather guiltily.

"And what may that be?" Timothy asked, gently kissing her cheek before pulling away.

"Even when you were on that stage reciting Shakespeare's sonnets, I couldn't help but think that you were quite dashing," she said, blushing slightly.

"Did you indeed? I have a greater confession to make."

"Well then, pray tell, what is it?"

"I have fancied you from the day you first came to deliver our postbag."

"Well, that is a shock then…" Dorcas said, though she was smiling. "Timothy…" she started.

"Yes, Dorcas?" Dorcas bit her lip. Perhaps she shouldn't; perhaps she should just let things continue as they were; there was no need to complicate things with love. Love made everything confusing and troubled, and once she said the words… There was no way back. She would either regret them, or be glad for them. _But what if I destroy this? _she thought. She enjoyed the easy conversations and the seemingly playful yet meaningless kisses. "Dorcas what is it?" Timothy asked, pushing a strand of hair off her face and tucking it back into her bun.

"I think I might… I think there may be a chance… that, perhaps, perchance… there is a possibility that— I love you!" Dorcas gulped hard before looking back up at Timothy who looked as surprised as she felt. "Please say something," she requested after a prolonged silence. Timothy pulled her into a gentle kiss.

"I love you too, dearest Dorcas." Dorcas sighed in relief and smiled again.

"I'm sorry; I was just so concerned that you—"

Timothy stopped her by placing a finger on her lips. "You need not apologize to me," he whispered, searching her eyes. Dorcas pulled Timothy into a brief but tight embrace.

"I must go," she whispered in his ear. "I'll be back tomorrow." And so she left, her heart feeling a good deal lighter than it did when she came, her mind much less troubled and conflicted.

**A/N Enjoyable? Not so much? Leave a review, if you please! Danke. ~ the shattered star**


	5. Nocturne

**A/N Another chapter; I am feeling really motivated this week! Leave a review, if you please!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.**

**Dedicated to: Chopin's nocturne No. 2, otherwise known as opus 9, number 2**

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Nocturne

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Timothy breathed on his hands and rubbed them together in an effort to keep them warm. He had asked Dorcas to meet him at the elder tree at twilight, and he fervently hoped she could get away. Ever since her father found out about their courtship, he had been less than friendly towards Timothy. _We've been courting for over a year now; I do not understand why he is so repulsed by the idea! _Timothy thought. He vented his feelings by viciously kicking the tree.

Just as the sun was kissing the horizon, he saw a figure approaching him. At first, he could not tell who the woman was as she was so bundled up. "Timothy," Dorcas said upon reaching him, "are you trying to freeze me to death?"

"Believe me, that was not my intention," Timothy said, swiftly kissing her cheek in greeting.

"After all, what _would _you do without me?" Dorcas questioned, smiling. "What was it you wanted then, if not have me freeze?"

"I… I have to tell you something. It's actually been troubling me for some time now." Dorcas tilted her head questioningly. "My father has taken very ill, and… Well, he is not expected to live through the week."

"Oh, Timothy, I am so sorry," Dorcas said, her eyes troubled. "I had no idea…"

"No, nor should you. My father prefers to keep things like this private."

"But he's dying— I'm sorry. It's not my place to intrude," Dorcas said, falling on to the frozen earth under the elder. "I just… This is all so sudden, is it not? When did he first take ill?"

"Do not feel as if you are intruding, Dorcas." Timothy said quickly, seating himself next to her. He was surprised to see how Dorcas was taking the news; he hadn't expected her to take it as hard as she did. "He fell ill a fortnight ago."

"So quickly?" Dorcas asked, though Timothy could tell she was speaking to herself. "That is why you have been so distracted lately," she murmured. "I just thought you had other things to concern yourself with; I'm so sorry I didn't realize." Timothy let out a bark of laughter.

"It's not your fault, Dorcas. This is in no way your doing." Timothy ran his hand through his hair. "I just wanted to tell you because… If— when he dies, I shall have to take over his duties and I shan't be able to see you as often."

"Do not worry about that, Timothy. I think I shall be able to contrive ways to see you," Dorcas said, though her tone was still distracted. "I only… I am surprised you are taking all of this as well as you are."

"I suppose I have grown used to the idea," Timothy said, averting his eyes from Dorcas's perceptive gaze. "And I never was particularly close to—"

"Don't say that; he was your father!" Dorcas cried, standing up. "He loved you, Timothy, as you loved him."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Timothy, your father may not have been as affectionate as others, but you must not doubt his love for you. Not now."

"Of course, Dorcas, you are right. I am sorry to have bothered you by asking you to come all the way out here," Timothy said dismissively.

"Now, Timothy, don't be upset," Dorcas whispered, sitting again whilst, pulling Timothy down with her. "You should go into his room and tell him that you love him. Don't tell him about how you were neglected; just tell him you love him. All will be well, you shall see," she said, feigning brightness.

"You always did know how to handle things, Dorcas," Timothy said, a crooked smile appearing on his lips. He placed a warm arm around Dorcas.

"I am not so sure about that, but I do pride myself in thinking that I do understand people quite well," Dorcas said, wide eyed and she relaxed contentedly into the comfortable hollow Timothy's arm made about her. "I love you, dearest," she whispered as she brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. As she pulled her hand away, Timothy placed a kiss in it, hugging her even tighter.

"It's getting cold; you should be off," he said, releasing her from her embrace. "Actually, wait," he said, pulling her back down. "I have a feeling that the next few weeks will not be… particularly pleasant. I do not think I shall feel this at ease for some time." Timothy pulled his knife out of its small sheath on his belt. "Shall we carve our initials on the tree to remember this moment?" Dorcas smiled and nodded.

By the time she left, there appeared to be a small carving on the truck of the tree that read "D+T" inscribed in a heart. Timothy dearly hoped that his father would want to listen to what he had to say.

**A/N Reviews are appreciated! Danke. ~ the shattered star**


	6. Impromptu

**A/N Another day, another chapter. Review, please!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.**

**Dedicated to: Schubert's impromptu in F major  
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Impromptu

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Dorcas breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Timothy bundled up in his coat. So he had recovered then. She ran up to him, pushing him down onto the fresh snow.

"Timothy, you're all right!" she whispered after she kissed him in greeting. "I knew you had fallen ill, but I have not had word from you in weeks, and I got worried—"

"Gently, gently," Timothy said, extricating himself from Dorcas's grasp and standing up. "I am not yet fully recovered, but I will be in due time."

"I am so glad to hear it," Dorcas said, smiling. Timothy returned her smile, though there seemed to be a certain brightness missing from it. "What is it, Timothy? What is troubling you?"

"Nothing, Dorcas, nothing. Now that you are here, nothing." He bent down and kissed her soundly. "I've missed you."

"Well, I've been here every day, it is only you who have been absent," Dorcas said gently, though her words were a slight rebuke."

"I am sorry, but with my father so recently passed, and all the duties I have inherited, and my illness—"

Dorcas gently placed her finger on his lips. "You need not apologize; I understand," she whispered, her eyes bright.

"Dorcas, you have no idea how much I longed for your company," Timothy said, taking her arm and strolling with her towards the elder.

"I may surprise you with my imaginations," she replied smirking slightly.

"It's just that… The people I must converse with are so much older than I, not to mention the fact that the matters they wish to discuss are so trivial…"

"Such as?" Dorcas asked.

"Oh, this town does not want the train to go through it, while another town does, etcetera…" Timothy said, sounding quite bored with the whole affair.

"Well, like it not, Timothy, you were born to privilege, and with privilege come responsibility. If you were a post man, I suppose you'd want to move up and be a magistrate, like you."

"Especially me."

"Oh yes, why is that?"

"I am in love," Timothy said, grinning at the object of his affections. "Isn't that what everyone wants?"

"Unfortunately not, though it makes no sense whatsoever to me," Dorcas said. Timothy wrapped his arm tightly around Dorcas's waist, and she leaned into his grip.

"Pray tell, Sir Timothy, if you are yet ill, why did you take the risk to your health and venture out into the world today?" Dorcas asked, looking up at him. She enjoyed feigning formalities with him; it made the gap in their social classes disappear, if only for a moment.

"Well, Miss Lane, I wanted to see someone that I have grown particularly attached to, who— I dare say I love!"

"And that it all?"

"I wanted to give her something."

"Pray tell, what is it you wanted to give her?"

"This," Timothy said, holding out a locket on a silver chain. Dorcas gasped as she took it in her fingers. "Do you like it?" Timothy asked. "I got the locket made for you in London." The locket in question was silver with an engraving of the Midwinter coat of arms. "And look," Timothy said, twisting the locket ever so gently. It resembled a heart when he was finished.

"It's beautiful," Dorcas said reverently. "I love it," she said, looking up into his eyes. "But I cannot accept it."

"Why ever not?" Timothy questioned, his expression confused.

"I just… If people saw it, they would think I was trying to elevate my social class, and I'm not. I love you for who you are, and even so, people can't accept it and—" Timothy broke her words off with a fierce kiss which hurt her as he pulled away.

"You are my equal, nay, my _superior_, and anyone who says otherwise is a fool."

"But Timothy, you cannot give me such an expensive gift—"

"It is mine to give to whom I wish," Timothy said stubbornly. "I shall refuse to see you tomorrow lest you take it," Timothy said half teasingly.

"But what if people—"

"Here, I have a solution to that," Timothy said, taking the locket from Dorcas's hand. He carefully undid the clasp and pulled about Dorcas's neck. He did the clasp in the back. And gently, ever so gently, he slipped the locket down the front of her gown. "You see?" he murmured in her ear. "Now no one need know, save you and me." He kissed her neck tenderly before pulling away. There were tears in Dorcas's eyes when he faced her again. "What happened?" he demanded, genuinely concerned.

"It's just… We shall never be in the same social class, Timothy, and I know you hate to hear it, but it can't be breached and it can't be broken." Dorcas felt small and weak, crying at something that seemingly had no meaning.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that love is blind?" Timothy whispered as he gathered her into a hug. "We love each other, and that is all that matters." Dorcas sniffled into his waist coat.

"I'm sorry about letting my emotions get the better of me," Dorcas said rather ashamedly.

"Don't be. I like to know what you are thinking about when you are so silent," Timothy said as rested his chin on the top of her head.

Dorcas reflected. Perhaps Timothy was correct and social classes were of no matter. But she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that he was wrong and that their troubles had only just begun.

**A/N Enjoyable? Leave a review, if you please! Danke. ~ the shattered star**


	7. Sonata

**A/N New installment is up! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.**

**Dedicated to: Beethoven's Moonlight sonata**

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Sonata

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"Do you suppose that one day the difference between social classes will disappear entirely?" Dorcas murmured, almost to herself.

"I think not, Dorcas," Timothy replied lightly, though he felt anything but. Every approaching day begged the question; were they planning to keep their affections to themselves? Was this all it would be, stolen kisses hidden away from everyone? Nothing more? No thoughts of marriage? As much as he liked to say it, he knew it was not true. Their social classes did matter, and love, however powerful, could not defeat the bitter truth. Timothy buried his face in Dorcas's hair. "Dorcas?" he murmured.

"Yes?"

"You remember my aunt, the one who lives in Manchester?"

"I believe I've heard something of her, why?" Dorcas asked, straightening up under the elder tree.

"She seems to have found a suitable match for me," Timothy said, wincing. He wasn't sure how Dorcas would react to his news. He wouldn't even blame her for getting upset. "I am to see her to-night."

"Are you indeed?" Dorcas asked, and to Timothy's surprise, she seemed unbothered, even amused at the news. "What is her name?"

"Adelaide."

"Pretty name."

"Indeed. Dorcas… Forgive me, but you seem very… unbothered by this news. May I inquire as to why?"

"I don't believe I have reason to feel threatened, do I?"

"No, no, of course not!"

"Well then…" Dorcas said, everything very evident to her apparently. "But perhaps," she began, "'twould be best if you actually tried to see if you and she could—"

"Dorcas, how could you even suggest such a thing?" Timothy cried, leaping to his feet.

"It's just… You have to produce an heir at some point, do you not?"

"I suppose I do, but that doesn't mean that she must be my children's mother!"

"But you have responsibilities you must fulfill, Timothy, and those responsibilities include marrying the right girl, and having children."

"You are that girl, Dorcas Lane," Timothy said, grasping her shoulders tightly. He was surprised to find tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Dorcas said, looking straight into Timothy's eyes, "I am so very sorry." She pulled herself to her feet and ran into the woods, leaving a dumbfounded and bemused Timothy in her wake. Timothy stood there, beneath the elder tree for a good five minutes before attempting to move. He could not fathom what had happened.

**A/N Leave a review! Danke. ~ the shattered star**


	8. Variation

**A/N Let me know if it's too fluffy in a review, please!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.**

**Dedicated to: David Lanz's Variation on a Theme from Pachebel's Canon in D major **

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**Variation

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There were tears in Dorcas's eyes as she made her way to the Midwinter estate. _I am so sorry, Timothy, _she thought. She only hoped he didn't hate her after to-night. _I really do love him though, _she thought desperately. Unfortunately, love did not equate to reason.

"Dorcas, you came!" Timothy cried as soon as he laid eyes on her approaching form.

"Well, I could hardly refuse when someone slips a note into my postbag reading 'meet me by the elder at twilight,' now could I?" Timothy only smiled, greeting her with a long kiss.

"I'm glad you came," he said. Dorcas could only smile helplessly back. Timothy caught Dorcas's hand in his and led her to the elder. "Have you noticed that this tree has been witness to us throughout our… relationship?"

"Yes; I was thinking about that just the other day…" Dorcas said wistfully. She didn't know how she was going to get the words out of her mouth. It was strange, after all. She had been the first to tell him that she loved him.

Timothy absently picked a cowslip from the ground and placed it in Dorcas's hair; a shimmer of yellow on a dark field. "There was the first time I met you," he said. He leaned in and kissed her gently. "The first time we kissed," he said, smiling. "I have shared so many kisses with you under this tree."

"That you have," Dorcas whispered, looking at the ground. Timothy took both Dorcas's hands in his and fell to his knees on the ground. He bent one leg into a crouch, and kept the other fixed to the ground. "Dorcas," he started, "I love you."

"Timothy, don't!" Dorcas cried, trying to extricate her hands, but Timothy held fast. "Don't say something we'll both regret!" she pleaded. To say good-bye was one thing, but to reject an offer of marriage? How could she do that to him?

"Wait, Dorcas, you don't know what I am to say," Timothy said patiently. "I have loved you and admired you since the day you first came here to deliver the post. Your wit and your spirit and your sense of humour and your sense of all that is good— you are, Dorcas. You exist in a way that I can only wish for." Timothy kissed the back of Dorcas's right hand before continuing. "Dorcas, I will never stop loving you. Stay with me, Dorcas, and say you'll be my wife. Marry me, Dorcas, and make me feel as if I could die at this moment and be content."

Dorcas could not stop them; the tears came pouring from her eyes. "Timothy, I…" she trailed off for a moment.

"Say yes, Dorcas. I know you love me as much as I love you," Timothy said, his eyes bright and pleading.

"Timothy… I— I can't. I'm sorry," Dorcas said, now positively weeping.

"Why not?" Timothy asked. "Why can't you?"

"Because…" This was it. She had to utter the despicable lie, the thing that would hurt him the most. But she had to! She couldn't marry him; he was above her station. And how would it look, a post girl married to a magistrate? "Because I don't love you."

"You— what?"

"I don't love you, Timothy. And I'm sorry if it pains you to hear it, but you must know that it pains me even more to utter the words."

"It cannot be. You told me you loved me!"

"I lied. I know how it must look, but I knew you loved me, and I felt obligated to return such emotions, and—" Dorcas broke down crying, almost falling to her knees. She could not look at Timothy. "Pray, excuse me, I must leave," she wept, running into the woods. She could hear Timothy's voice calling her back, but she paid them no heed. She heard him get up and follow her, she heard him curse, and she continued running.

Dorcas pulled the locket she was wearing from beneath her dress and she ran her fingers across it when she returned home. "My love, I am so sorry," she whispered, another flood of tears streaming down her face.

**A/N Review, if you please! Danke. ~ the shattered star**


	9. Largo

**A/N Another one-shot! This was will have a sort of sequel, but I think they'll make sense on their own as well.**

**Disclaimer: not mine, etc.**

**Dedicated to: Handel's Largo from Xerxes**

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Largo

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Timothy sat under the elder tree, running his finger around a ring. The ring in question was silver and bore a tiny diamond. Timothy was sure that if the person for whom it was intended saw it, she would approve of his choice. _But it's of no use now, _Timothy thought glumly. _She said she didn't love me. _It had been a month since his failed proposal, and he still sat under the elder tree every night at twilight, looking at the ring he had bought for his beloved.

It was nearing midnight, yet Timothy had not moved. He had been sullen to his servants and unresponsive towards his Aunt.

The post boy who now came to the estate to deliver the mail told him that the post master had taken very ill and was confined to his bed. Though he knew he shouldn't, Timothy felt a sense of hope when he learned of the news. Somehow, he felt like Dorcas's father had something to do with why she turned him down. He refused to believe that she no longer loved him; it was not possible. She had told him herself that she loved him! Why would she lie?

Timothy looked up to the sky despairingly. He vowed never to marry. He vowed never to love another. He vowed so many things, but he knew they could not come to pass. He was obligated to marry and—

"_With privilege comes responsibilities!" _The words rang shrilly in his ears; she was the one who had kept him from running away with her. She was the responsible one, she was the one who cared about right and wrong, not him!

"Timothy?" Timothy's head snapped up to see who had called his name. He was greeted by the face of Dorcas Lane.

"Dorcas?" he said, shocked. What happened next was even more shocking. She ran up to him and flung her arms around his neck, weeping into his cravat. Timothy was so surprised that he stood frozen for a moment before slowly, hesitantly wrapping his arms around her waist. _Has she realized what she did was a mistake? _Timothy thought hopefully.

"Timothy," Dorcas said, trying to compose herself. "I've left him alone, I can't do this, I can't, and if he knew I was coming to you he'd—"

"Who," Timothy demanded, ready to kill whoever she was speaking of. "Who hurt you?"

"My father is dead!" Dorcas burst out. She looked into Timothy's eyes for a moment before commencing her weeping again.

"Oh, Dorcas… I am so sorry," Timothy said, though he was having trouble finding words. He was dead. She would be all alone in her home. _Well, not all alone; I suppose she'll have Zillah, _Timothy thought, though a maid was not the same as a father. "Have you told anyone?"

"No one. I came directly to you; I did not know what to do!" she cried, starting to panic.

"Dorcas, you shall stay with me, understood?" Timothy said. Dorcas did not have a chance to answer as Timothy took her hand and led her inside the estate. He breathed a sigh of relief when he remembered that his Aunt had left the night before. He did not want to know what she would have to say about his taking in a girl. He had no dialogue with Dorcas as he led her across his estate.

"Edward," Timothy snapped at one of his butlers, "show Miss Lane to the South Wing, and give her whichever room she wishes."

"Timothy, you don't have to—"

"Oh, but I do. I must, Dorcas." Timothy said, looking into her eyes briefly. He only found sadness. "Dorcas, I will stop by the post office and pick up your things and I shall make arrangements for your father for to-night. To-morrow, you may make the arrangements for his funeral." Timothy turned to his butler. "Ensure that as few people as possible know of Miss Lane's being here; I expect nothing less than the most stringent secrecy from you, understood?" Edward nodded curtly. "Dorcas, I shall take breakfast with you tomorrow, but for now you must rest. Go now and sleep," he said, his tone all together more gentle.

Timothy turned away from Dorcas and made his way out the door. Just as he reached the door, he heard a faint, "thank you, Timothy," from behind him. "I do not care if you don't love me, Dorcas," he muttered on his way out, "I still love you."

It was only when Timothy mounted his horse that he realized how exhausted he was.

**A/N Leave a review, if you please! Danke. ~ the shattered star**


	10. Fugue

**A/N New chapter! This is probably the longest one and the one with the most emotion. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.**

**Dedicated to: Bach's toccata and fugue in D minor  


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Fugue

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It was only after Dorcas felt a hand on her shoulder that she realized she was screaming. She didn't know why she was screaming; she stopped abruptly. She looked up to find herself with Timothy. She was on a bed in the south wing of the Midwinter estate, and Timothy was standing above her.

"Dorcas, you were screaming in your sleep," Timothy said quietly, a concerned look on his face.

"I am sorry, I don't know why—" All of a sudden, it hit her. She had been on her rounds, and it had been late. She returned to the post office at around eight, and she was about to ask Zillah to make her something for supper before going to sleep. She walked around to the back table, and that was where she had found him. Her father was slumped against the table, his hands splayed. As soon as she saw him, she backed away from the table, her mouth opened in an anguished cry.

Unexpectedly, her father took a shuddering breath and sat up. His eyes met his daughter's. "You saw him against my direct instruction," he rasped, his eyes rolling in their sockets. "You have betrayed me!"

The recollection of the dream hit her, and she let out a small cry.

"What did you dream of?" Timothy asked her. Dorcas finally gained enough energy to sit up and talk. She told him everything, leaving nothing out. At the end of her tale, tears fell from her eyes.

"And I can't help but think that he was correct. I came to you first, when he had specifically warned me not to see you—"

"Is this why you refused my proposal?" Timothy asked urgently.

Dorcas bowed her head. "Yes," she whispered.

Timothy gathered her in his arms and hugged her tightly. "Didn't you know, Dorcas? Nothing is stronger than love? Not you, not I, not even society herself?" Dorcas wept into Timothy's shoulder. She knew it was not true. It could not be. "I love you, Dorcas Lane. And nothing will ever change that."

"Timothy…" Dorcas whispered hoarsely. "That day… When I told you I no longer loved you… it wasn't true. I did love you, and I still do!"

"I know you do, love." Timothy let her go and kneeled down to remove his boots. He slid under the covers, watching Dorcas's horrified face as he did so. "I have no evil intentions, Dorcas. I only wish to comfort you. May I?"

Dorcas realized what it was that he meant. "Thank you," she said quietly. She kissed his lips briefly and turned away. Timothy caught her arm and pulled her back in for a long kiss, which shook Dorcas to her very foundations, for she knew, as much as she wanted him, it would never play out. "But, what about your servants—"

"Very few people in my service know you are here, and I have instructed those who do not to enter the south wing. Just sleep, Dorcas. You are safe to-night." Timothy wrapped his arms about Dorcas and she entered a blissful sleep, devoid of dreams, with only love filling her sleepy thoughts.

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Dorcas woke with a start. She turned to her side and found the bed empty. It was all a dream. In her heart, Dorcas knew that as much as she loved him, it would never be. She could not marry him, and he could never sleep beside her. She let out a small cry, which she stifled with her pillow. _I am so sorry, Timothy,_ she thought again.

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It had been seven days since her father died. Dorcas woke and donned a gown. She packed everything back into her trunk, and made her way out to the elder tree. She knew Timothy would stop by soon, and she wished to say good-bye to him one last time. She was leaving, never to return. Her father had been buried, and she had no business being on the Midwinter estate.

"Dorcas!" Timothy called out from upon his horse. He dismounted quickly and handed the reins to one of his servants, walking briskly towards Dorcas. "I assume this means that you are leaving?"

"Yes," Dorcas said quietly. She pulled herself up from under the tree and straightened her black gown. She tripped over one of her many petticoats and found her elbow caught by Timothy. She looked into his clear eyes for a moment before she impulsively leaned forward and kissed him. It felt so good and so right; she did not want to break away. She could feel his lips moving in time with hers, and for just one moment, there was Dorcas, and there was Timothy, and that was all. She felt Timothy step forward and she found herself pressed against the rough bark of the elder tree. She moaned gently, regretfully before she finally broke away, panting for breath. "I cannot," she whispered, her eyes troubled.

"Why not?" Timothy asked, his breath also ragged.

"Because—"

"I do not care about society. She may hang!" Timothy declared.

"It is because of society that you have your station, Timothy," Dorcas reminded him.

"But I would rather be penniless and have you, than have to live my entire life in solitude."

"You shan't live in solitude," Dorcas said, almost scoffing. _Then again, _she thought, _he seems so alone when there is no one here… _With great effort, she brushed all her thoughts away. "I must go now. I only wanted to say good-bye." She looked at him regretfully one last time. "Good-bye."

"I shan't say good-bye to you, Dorcas. You cannot just pretend nothing happened. You used to love me, and I believe you still do!"

"You speak of things you know nothing of!" Dorcas spat.

"I know much about love," Timothy said, his voice dangerously low. "Only I am not afraid to admit it." He grasped Dorcas's shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her roughly.

"No!" Dorcas cried ripping away from him. "I have given you my answer; I shan't change it!" She took her trunk and strode away.

"Dorcas, if you leave now, nothing shall ever be the same between us," Timothy yelled, his rage evident. Dorcas paused for a moment, then continued walking. From now on, she vowed, his words would mean nothing to her.

**A/N Enjoyable? Drop me a review, if you please! Danke. ~ the shattered star**


	11. Scherzo

**A/N I know it's short, but the next one will be long; no worries. Enjoy, and leave a review!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.**

**Dedicated to: Chopin's scherzo in B Flat Minor, opus 31  


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Scherzo

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"Timothy, do you remember when we used to think we would never see each other?" Dorcas asked one day, her arm entwined in Timothy's.

"I do," Timothy said, and he smiled, though he didn't mean it. He had never forgiven her for what she had done to him that day. She broke his heart clean through, and he should have been able to stay away like they promised, but he kept finding important business that kept him at the post office, especially when Dorcas's father had died. "I don't think I was capable of living without Zillah's pastries," he said, knowing that Dorcas would believe him, or at least pretend to. She only smiled knowingly.

They passed by the elder, looking at a carving that had aged five years, a carving they both tried to ignore. Yes, things were as normal as ever, but it wasn't enough. Timothy had a sudden impulse to take Dorcas by the shoulder and kiss her, but he repressed it. He couldn't and he wouldn't. He would never hold her, or kiss her. And above all, he would never marry her. _Oh, if you knew what you did to me, _he thought, as he bowed to take his leave.

**A/N Review! This is the penultimate instalment, by the way; I forgot to mention that. ;) Danke. ~ the shattered star**


	12. Finale

**A/N Voilà, the last chapter of The Elder. I hope you enjoyed; leave a review, if you please!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.  


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**Epilogue:**  
Finale

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Dorcas rolled over on her bed and opened her eyes slowly. Her hair was strewn across her pillow, and a faint, tingling feeling, maybe a smile, rested on her lips. She reached her bare arm over the bed and was surprised when she felt no one next to her. "Timothy?" she whispered, sitting up while pulling the sheets to her chest. She fell back into bed almost immediately, as getting up so briskly had caused the blood to rush to her head.

Dorcas felt something on her shoulder. She picked it off delicately with her fingertips and found it to be small yellow flower. "A cowslip," she whispered, smiling. She pulled herself into a seated position again and found the bed to be strewn with the yellow flowers. She laughed until she felt giddy.

As she put on a light dress, she noticed a note on Timothy's pillow. _"Follow the flowers," _it read. It was then that Dorcas noticed the path of flowers leading out of the room. She fingered the ring on her finger as she followed the path barefooted.

"Of course!" she cried when she saw him under the elder. "Timothy!" she called out, running towards him. He picked her up and kissed her soundly as he whirled her about. "You weren't there when I woke," Dorcas said as she pouted slightly.

"I am sorry; I had to make sure all the servants had been dismissed for the day and I had to have a quick discussion with the constable," Timothy said.

"And why were you dismissing the servants for the day?" Dorcas asked, tracing his cheekbones with a finger.

"To make up for the fact that we must spend the night and day after our wedding at the Midwinter estate," Timothy said, catching Dorcas's hand and placing a kiss in it. He sat, pulling Dorcas down with him. "Did you like the flowers?" he asked.

"They were perfect," Dorcas replied, picking a flower stem and poking him with it. "You, Sir Timothy, have put much too much thought into this," Dorcas proclaimed. "It would seem as if you _knew _I would accept your proposal."

"Well, it was quite obvious, is it not?"

"Pray tell, why is that?"

"I love you, you love me, two and three make five," Timothy said nonchalantly. Dorcas laughed as she threw her arms around her neck and kissed him. Timothy kissed her back eagerly, and soon his kisses were exploring her neck, and her earlobe—

"Timothy, not here, where everyone can see!" Dorcas cried, swatting at his face.

"No servants, remember?" Timothy pointed out in a low voice.

"But still…" Dorcas said, trying to remember why she was putting up a fight as Timothy trailed kisses down her neck. She gave up within a few minutes, and she smiled. "I love you, Timothy," she murmured into his ear.

"And I love you, Dorcas Lane," Timothy whispered. He kissed her ear ever so gently and Dorcas smiled again.

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Dorcas awoke with a cry. She lay in bed, frozen until the pictures finally made sense in her mind. She wept and wept; she knew it would never be, it could never be! And it was her decision that had decided as much. She didn't know hoe Timothy was feeling, but he was married now, and not to her. And it pained her. She had brought this upon herself, and now she had to bear it.

"_I do not care about society! She may hang!" _The words rang in her ears and she hated them. Unfortunately, society could not hang; it was the reason she was where she was, and it was the reason Timothy was where he was. And she couldn't change it. Timothy was wrong; there were things stronger than love, and as much as she despised the thought, she had to accept it. She had to accept it or live in constant pain. She chose the former.

**A/N Thank you to those of you who stuck through it the whole way. A review would be much appreciated! Danke. ~ the shattered star**


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